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SMITH 



BY HAROLD F. BARBER 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

F. CONRAD FAXON 



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COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY 
HAROLD F. BARBER 



Printed December 



HYDE PARK 

THE NORFOLK PRESS 

1911 



$ 0, k $ 

©CI.A303530 






SMITH 



Smith had come over from New York 
on a hurried business trip, and had be- 
come hopelessly lost in Boston's tortu- 
ous highways, resulting in his accomp- 
lishing only about half of a good day's 
work, and remarking with feeling and 
point," This is the darnedest town I ever 
saw," retired to rest, thoroughly weary 
and disgusted. He told me so, when I 
met him about a year afterward. 
In the meantime, other business trips 
being necessary, Smith had become suf- 
ficiently posted to be able to accomplish 
his calls without too much waste of time, 
and in consequence had wandered about 
somewhat, after the evening meal. He 
had been surprised at attending a Pop 
Concert by the Boston Symphony Or- 
chestra to find a glorified beer garden 
combined with a "highbrow" musical at- 
mosphere and the clothes of the horse 
show; he had discovered for himself that 
he could not saunter more than two min- 
utes from one certain spot and find any 
"bright lights;" he had become thor- 
oughly conversant with the fact that 
Boston is the only place where streets 



PAGE THREE 



SMIT H 

run only one way; and after getting thor- 
oughly into his mind that it was useless 
to try and take a street car anywhere in 
the business district, had become not 
only somewhat accustomed to Boston's 
ways, but actually looked forward to 
the next trip with almost pleasurable 
feelings — not that he would admit it, 
O no! But Boston was "tolerable;" and 
the truth was that he dimly felt he would 
discover some new and interesting idio- 
syncrasy of the old town. 
And so, one day I met Smith. "Say, 
some roads you've got about here," 
said he. "Brown took me out in his car 
last night and we took a spin out Com- 
monwealth Avenue to that summer the- 
ater you've got on the river — ten miles 
right from the heart of the city, with a 
great road all the way." We were walk- 
ing down dear old Cornhill at the time, 
where the old bookstores are; old Corn- 
hill, which can't keep straight, though 
only about 150 yards long, and to save 
elbowing our way through the Wash- 
ington Street crowds, we turned into 
that system of alleys which takes you 



PAGE FOUR 



SMITH 

half a mile through the busiest part of 
the city, never more than half a block or 
so from Washington Street. 
"Say, where are you taking me to?" said 
Smith. "Right to City Hall," said I, "by 




"Dear old Cornhill, where the old book-stores are." 

direct route as the crow flies. Not Com- 
monwealth Avenue, and an auto couldn't 
travel here, but it's mighty convenient 
all the same." 

However, it being a warm day, after pass- 
ing Young's Hotel we turned aside a 
few steps; and glancing at the old tavern 
sign with the date "1795," we entere d 



page five 



SMITH 

over the sawdust-strewn floor and ord- 
ered each a "half-mug" brought to us at 
a bare old table, scoured smooth and gray 
with age. Peace was here. No one hur- 
ried, neither the drawers, nor the patrons, 
and least of all the waiters, in their long 
white aprons. Brown and smoky were 
the ceilings, brown and discolored the 
sporting prints of fifty years ago which 
adorned the walls, and dented were the 
pewter mugs — but the ale was cool and 
sparkling; and talk flourishing in such 
an atmosphere, Smith opened his mouth 
and spake: 

"This town gets me," said he. "It isn't 
like any new town, and it isn't like any 
old town; there doesn't seem to be any 
other place like it." 

"Well, Smith, it's a secret, this charm of 
old Boston, but I'll let you in on it. You 
spoke of Commonwealth Avenue just as 
we turned into the alley, and we're not 
ioo feet from Young's Hotel or the 
City Hall now, though you wouldn't im- 
agine there was such a thing as a trolley 
car, or an elevator, or a telephone in ex- 
istence in this old-time ale-house. You 

page six 



SMITH 



may have your shoes shined in Spring 
Lane, where the Town Pump stood 250 
years ago, and throw an orange against 




'Haifa mile through the busiest part of the city, never 
more than half a block from Washington Street." 



PAGE SEVEN 



SMITH 

the Post Office. When we leave here, in 
less than half a minute we'll be out in 
the glare and rush of Newspaper Row — 
we shouldered past a great load of paper 
for the Post when we entered the door; 
as we crossed Court Street you remarked 
the Old Court House apparently being 
used for nothing but a background for 
a news-stand; don't you see, man, it's the 
contrasts. Boston is the fifth city in the 
country, the center of almost 1,500,000 
people, and yet the city itself is condensed 
into a smaller space than would seem pos- 
sible. The quaint old things are here, 
and the modern innovations are here, all 
crowded in together. Just so with the peo- 
ple and the institutions and the habits of 
mind — everywhere you meet contrasts. 
Think over the really interesting people 
you know, and see if they're not made 
up of strangely contradictory character- 
istics. Isn't it so? It may be that these 
people seem more contradictory because, 
being positive, each qualitv is empha- 
sized; but however that is, the fact seems 
to hold. And the same laws apply to com- 
munities as to individuals. 



PAGE EIGHT 



SMITH 

"Look about and just notice the con- 
trasts you will see in old Boston. You 
may not mistake the dome of the Chris- 




H^ 



"Glancing at the old tavern sign with the date '1795' 
we shouldered past a great load of paper as we entered." 



PAGE NINE 



SMITH 

tian Science Church for the dome of the 
State H ouse as did an aviator who flew up 
from Squantum, but you can't help no- 
ticing the uncommonness of the Common, 
where hundreds play baseball in the 
heart of the city, with busy commerce 
and smart shops the width of the street 
away. You can't miss the largest office 
building in the city, built completely 
around the Old South Church, its eleven 
white stories making a most striking 
background for the simple architecture 
of the smoke-begrimed old church." 
Smith is really quite sensible — "I be- 
lieve you're right," said he. 
And so, after that, whenever I see Smith, 
he tells me what new features he's no- 
ticed about Boston's contrasts, and he's 
really getting quite cracked on the sub- 
ject. 

At first he mentioned such common- 
places as King's Chapel seeming out of 
place with the City Hall behind it, a de- 
partment store in front of it, and a large 
hotel opposite, not to mention the ven- 
ders of post-cards who throng its sacred 
precincts; or how queer St. Paul's looks 



PAGE TEN 



SMITH 




"A striking background tor the simple architecture 
of the smoke-begrimed old church." 



PAGE ELEVEN 



SMITH 

right in the midst of bustling Tremont 
Street, with its giant columns black with 
time. 

One night he dined and wined at ridi- 
culously small expense in an Italian res- 
taurant, while Italian operatic airs were 
sung by a tenor of real Italian quality, 
and was surprised to find that this coast 
of Bohemia was within ten feet of the 
Parker House. 

The next day one of his customers took 
him to lunch at a glorified lunch coun- 
ter, where they sat upon little stools amid 
sumptuous surroundings, and where the 
most toothsome delicacies were placed 
before them with miraculous speed by the 
most attractive of young women; and he 
found the prices far higher than at the 
cafe of the operatic airs. On the way from 
lunch to take a train, Smith's eye, being 
now somewhat trained to observation, 
spied a more lowly "beanery" which an- 
nounced its location and business by 
large wooden representations of the in- 
digenous bean-pot and the sacred cod 
fish. 
I came across him one afternoon on 



PAGE TWELVE 



SMITH 

Tremont Street, gazing through the iron 
fence of Old Granary Burying Ground. 
He seemed lost in contemplation of the 
stillness within the enclosure — it was 
winter and already dark, and the spar- 
rows had ceased their twitter, while the 
hurrying crowds of the rush-hour brush- 
ed by him subway-bent. I had to speak 
twice before he heard me. Then we step- 
ed over to the subway together and 
fought our way through the crush to our 
car, and of course had to stand. Going 
out, he told me of his latest observations. 
"Say, did you ever notice these subway 
stations? They look like the offspring 
of the Public Library." "That's so," I 
agreed, "and you've heard of the Eng- 
lishman who inquired the way to the 
North Station and wanted to punch the 
man who courteously directed him to go 
'down in the tunnel and take the Ele- 
vated?' 

" Well, " said Smith, " I was strolling 
down Columbus Avenue one night about 
a couple of months ago, and about every 
third door was a little cafe, some smaller 
and some larger, but there were lights 



PAGE THIRTEEN 



SMITH 

and music all the way. I've never been 
to Paris, but it reminded me of things 
I've read about the cafes on the boule- 
vards there. Well, I was riding down the 
Avenue on a car today, and do you know, 
all the way down, every time I looked 
up, there was Park Street Church in the 
distance across the Common exa£tly in 
the middle of the street," "Yes," said I, 
"and have you noticed how high that 
steeple looks as you come out of the 
vaudeville theatre in the little street just 
opposite the church? That pi&ure the- 
ater used to be the Boston Music Hall, 
you know. 

"And by the way, have you run across 
the old tavern yet where much beer is 
consumed over little marble-topped ta- 
bles, and where you may look past the 
faces of the women at the Landing of the 
Pilgrims, with John Alden and Priscilla 
and the rest, painted on the walls?" 
"No," said he, "you must take me there; 
but I've been wondering how the spirit 
of old Paul Revere down at the Old 
North Church likes the smell of garlic 
and spaghetti." 



PAGE FOURTEEN 



SMITH 




"How the steeple looks as you come out of the 

vaudeville theatre... that used to be 

the Boston Music Hall." 



PAGE FIFTEEN 



SMITH 



DtG 23 i 1911 



After a ride of about a mile we alighted 
at the edge of the Fenway, the Desert 
in the City, where the eye sweeps broad- 
ly over a wide trad of stark streets, park 
land, and creeping water, broken along 
the edge by educational oases. "And just 
see what we left a mile away '/'said Smith. 
"Why, the corner of Washington and 
Winter Streets is worse than a cane rush." 
"Well, Smith, have you been up to Bea- 
con Hill, say Mt. Vernon Street, which 
isn't five minutes walk from the 'cane 
rush?' Up there it's like a mossy glade 
in a forest, for quiet peace, dignity, and 
a general air of having always been there. 
And then continue over the hill for a 
couple of blocks and you'll realize that 
Boston is 'The Darkies' Africa.' ' 
And then, all of a sudden without warn- 
ing, Smith did a regrettable thing. He 
smote me upon the back and exclaimed, 
"Say, old man, why don't you jot down 
a few of these queer things? They'd make 
good reading, and I want you to do it." 
So blame Smith. 



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